Neverending Nightmares
by LacieRiver
Summary: Between a real world murder of a young girl, passing out from lack of sleep, and spontaneous trips to his Mind Palace, Sherlock's sanity might have finally cracked. But can he solve the mystery and himself at the same time? Bases on the Horror game 'Neverending Nightmares'. No need of any knowledge about the game before reading. Rating may go up.
1. Chapter 1

**_Never Ending Nightmare_**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

_Nightmare:_  
_night·mare (nīt′mâr′) _

_n._

_**1. ** A dream arousing feelings of intense fear, horror, and distress._

_**2. ** An event or experience that is intensely distressing._

___**3. ** A demon or spirit once thought to plague sleeping people._

* * *

Sleep, to Sherlock was Holmes, was nothing more than a waste of time. Why waste so much of a day lying in a bed unconscious? There were so many other things he could be doing in that time. Solving cases or conducting experiments, there was so many other significant things he could be doing rather than laying in bed. To Sherlock, sleep was the same as recharging a battier; it was boring and life would be so much better without it. The only good thing sleep gave was an excuse he could when he wanted to be rid of someone.

On this particular day Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, and his faithful companion Dr. John H. Watson, ex-army doctor, was standing in the middle of a perfectly ordinary house in a perfectly ordinary living room on a perfectly neighborhood. What was out of place was the body of a young girl hanging from the ceiling by a noose. The girl was no more than twelve; her black hair was straight and hung well past her shoulders almost down to her waist. Her brown near black eyes were hollow and stared into nothingness. Her pale skin made her look sickly and her skinny body almost looked malnourished.

"Viola Mason; Eleven years old, single child and daughter of Mr. Ross Mason and Mrs. Janet Mason. According to the neighbors The Mason's had left on a weeklong vacation on a cruise. They had left their three-year old Yorkshire, Mini, with the neighbors the Worthington. Mrs. Worthington said that they had forgotten to tell them what type of dog food they used, stop to visit the house and found their daughter hanging from the ceiling." DI Lestrade told them as they took in the scene.

"Oh god..." John Watson has been to war, he had watched his friends die in his arms and seen probably the worst injuries the world had to offer. Before he passed out, he had even gotten a glimpse of his shoulder wound. Not only this, but he had caused just as many as he had seen. Although he was an army doctor, he didn't have such a crack shot from watching others. When you're on the battle field you need to have some knowledge of fire arms. Add all this to all the crime scenes he'd seen beside Sherlock, he'd have plenty of experience with dead bodies.

But no amount of experience, no matter how many bodies he'd seen, in every position known to many, nothing could ever prepare him for the sight of a dead child.

Had it not been for the children's clothes, shoes and smaller silverware, he would never have known a child had lived here. The place looked worn down and nearly falling apart, which was a major contrast to the exterior of the house. The outside of the house was painted a creamy white with a red door that had a blue trimming. Going around the house was a white picket fence that had an opening that stopped right at the driveway. At the end of the driveway was a yellow mailbox with a bright red flag sticking up.

So all in all, the place looked totally normal on the outside, yet chaos on the inside.

How horrifying similar to people.

"Alright Sherlock, what ya' got?"

"Well for starters, it wasn't suicide if that's what you're thinking." Sherlock replied as he looked over the body. "John, why don't you have look, tell me what you see. Or rather, what you _don't see."_

Walked over and observed the scene; There stool a medium size stool under the body which hung from a rope which had been tied to a small line of chains which had been once used to hold a chandelier of some sorts. The was long enough so that if a child stood on the stool they would be able to each it easily; so that ruled out that someone put Viola up there. It looked like a classic suicide, but what could be wrong? Her skin coloring and temperature were correct for the time the neighbor gave them; John simply could figure it out.

But what John _did _see distracted him from what he was supposed to be looking for. Her hands and finger nails showed signs of struggle and there appeared to be some bleeding from under the girl's dress.

"Well, I can't tell you what _isn't _there, but I do see some signs of struggle and also there appears to be bleeding in her torso. Neither or which should be there if this was a suicide."

"Correct, but as usual John, you seen but don't observe. Look at her neck, if this were a suicide there should be a V mark forming on her neck from the rope. There isn't one, and as John pointed out, there are both sighs of struggle and bleeding from her torso. Although, there are only a few drops of blood, not enough loss to kill her. I suggest ridding our victim of her garments and have her fully examined. Honestly Lestrade, did you even have her looked over by a medical examiner? It's like you're not even trying anymore!"

"I have to agree with Sherlock." John said crossing his arms across his chest. "This seems a little unprofessional, not that I'm saying to stop asking for our help, but you can't become dependent on us."

Lestrade gave a tried sigh. "I don't if this is connected to this or not, but a few days ago a note was delivered to the Scotland Yard. We've done all types of tests on it, but found nothing."

With a signal to an officer standing outside of the room, the DI was handed a clear plastic bag with a single piece of paper inside. While one side was completely blank, the other side had large letters written in red ink that had dripped down the paper and had drained and stained the note.

**_3/31/14_**

**_Fear Her_**

* * *

Back at 221B on Baker Street, the two men returned back to their home and took their respectful seats across from each other. When they had left the scene DI Lestrade told them they would be getting tapes from any cameras that have the Mason's house in view. After telling Sherlock and John that he would contact them if they found anything on the parents and sent them on their way.

"So than, 'Fear Her', what do you think it means?" John said as he settled into his red cushioned chair.

"Anything at this point, maybe the person who murdered her thought Viola knew something she shouldn't. Or perhaps Violas sent the note thinking someone was after her. The bigger question is why would her parents leave her behind?"

"You'd think they would have contacted someone if they thought she got left behind."

"Maybe it was intentional. Although there were no signs of abuse there very well could have been. Until we heard from Mr. and Mrs. Mason we can't know what to do next."

* * *

_**A/N: This story is based off of the horror game 'Neverending Nightmares'. Although I haven't played the game myself, I did watch Markiplier on YouTube play it and got inspired from it. You don't need to know anything about the game to understand what's going on, in fact this story is very loosely based of the game. From what I heard the game is still in development but was founded on Kickstart on September 29th 2013. You can follow the development of the game here: **_

_**I take no credit for anything that has to do with this game! The only thing that belongs to me is this story and nothing else! **_

_**Just a warning that if you decide to look into the game bewared, it is a horror and the trailer for it DOES show some disturbing images. The creator has struggled with mental illness and has used those to fuel his game. **_

_**Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy and decide to read more!**_

_**~ The Consulting Panda.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

It was evening when Lestrade got back to them about Mr. and Mrs. Mason. According to the cruise ship's log they were checked in and hadn't left the ship at any of the docks. But no one had seen them, none of the crew, none of the other passengers, no one. Their luggage was brought to their room along and was even unpacked, yet the room looked untouched.

An autopsy report came in showing that the girl had been stabbed, and then the killer cleaned the wound, and then redressed her. But what was peculiar was that all of the doors in the house were locked and no one could find any of the keys. Although it was suggested that they break down the doors, DI Lestrade ordered his men not to.

With all this new information, Sherlock laid out on his couch with hands in a steeple form. He blocked out everything else and forced on the case. The girl, Viola, must have known or did something to make someone fear her enough to kill her.

As night began to fall Sherlock felt his eye lids become heavier and heavier. His mind began to betray him as he felt himself going limp. A sudden blackness surrounds him as he felt himself slipping deep and still deeper into conscientiousness.

* * *

Sherlock woke up with a start; it took his all of three seconds to realize he was not in 221B. The room he awoke in was dark and only had candles to provide light. Framed paintings seem to be the only decoration in the room other than the candle holders. Sherlock realized he was lying in a bed on top of the covers. He began panting and looking around the room trying to figure out where he was.

A single nightstand and a wall table were the only other furniture in the room besides the bed. There was two doors which led out of the room. As Sherlock got out of the bed he made his way to the door directly across from the he opened the door he came to a bathroom. Besides the candles being the only source of light, it looked completely ordinary. With a porcelain tub and a vintage toilet, it gave the bathroom a traditional look.

A single window above the tub was open slightly blowing a light breeze into the curtains. A chill ran down Sherlock's back, he looked into his reflection in the mirror. He's hair was tousled as if he had just gotten out of bed from a long night's sleep. As he placed his hands on the counter of the sink he felt his hands suddenly turn wet and cold.

He looked down and saw streams of blood covering the sink.

There seem to be no other distribution of the room other than the blood. It began at the top of the counter and each stream left a single trail down into the sink. It was as if tiny rivers were flowing, there was no large puddle where they began, no smears, no drops, just tiny stream of blood randomly flowing.

Where they came from and how they got there was a mystery. The blood streams were like spider web that had been untangled and straightened out.

With no inductions or clues, Sherlock left the bathroom to explore the house. He left the bathroom and went back into the bedroom; from there he turned towards the other door in the bedroom and left the room.

He entered into a hallway with more framed paintings and candles as sources of light. Next to a table holding vases filled with flowers up against the wall was a locked cheat. A padlock stood proudly out in front with no key in sight to show its undoing.

As Sherlock took all this it, he finally realized where he was; inside the Mason's house.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

When Sherlock had first seen the house earlier that day, he didn't see very much of it. From the outside it looked like a normal two-story house. Now as he traveled down the hall, it felt like the inside was larger than the outside. A came to another door down the hall, the door cracked loudly as he opened it. He pocked his head his head around the door.

The room was much like the room he had awoke in. The room looked undisturbed, with only the flames on the candles as proof that someone had been once in there. With nothing else of interest, he left the room and returned to the hall. A staircase covered in darkness came into view, it lead downwards, most likely to a cellar. Sherlock looked down the stairs, but saw nothing. Looking down the hall he saw it finally came to end to a doorway that was boarded off and a corner up a head down to another hall.

Deciding not to take his chances just yet, Sherlock went down to the other hall to find yet another door, this was unlocked.

The room looked much like the other two Sherlock had seen; only this one had toys in it. It was a child's room. Toy soldiers were laid out on the floor and some taken out as if they were left, abandoned by a child who was suddenly called away. Next to the toy chest were building blocks, but when Sherlock took a closer look, he realized the blocks spelled out something.

MU-D-ER

R

MUDER

Muder? It made no sense, muder wasn't a word! Ah, but this was a child's room, the message in the blocks was most likely a child's work. A child, who perhaps couldn't spell yet. Sherlock could imagine it now, a small child playing in their room when suddenly distress was in the air, the atmosphere turned cold and a threat was introduced. A message where a fool would look over, but a wise man would look and take heed from it.

Murder.

Moving on from the blocks Sherlock noticed yet another door on the other side of the room. This house seemed endless, one room seem to only lead to another clueless empty room to another. Going through the room Sherlock found a bathroom much like the one in the room he had awoken in, with the exception there was a toy soldier sitting on the toilet. It was like the house was repeating it. Everything felt the same, only small subtle changes were the only differ between rooms.

The bathroom did have one thing different, it lead to yet another room! Now Sherlock was getting irritated, why were there so many rooms! There were only three people that lived here, so why so many rooms!

With irritation and anger boiling in him, Sherlock throw open the door. He was about to take a step into the new room when a stopped mid-way. His breath caught in his throat and he felt his eyes widen. Adrenaline coursed through him as his eyes took in the sight. It started to click in his mind, I mean, what little girls plays with toy soldiers? I mean, Viola was obviously a very girly, with her pretty pink dress and her flower covered shoes. So what was a girl like Viola doing with toy soldiers in her room? Nothing, because that wasn't her room.

Before Sherlock was a room with leafy wallpaper, a plush look bed with a canopy draped over it, and toy dolls all spread around.

Obviously, a girl's rooms.

The dolls stared back at Sherlock with hollow eyes that seemed to follow him. Each doll had a different expression, some with a bored look, and others with small happy smiles, but all with hollow black eyes. While some were lying on the bed, others on the floor or sitting on top of something, one was even standing next to the corner of bed, as if it were in time out.

On the other side of the room was a rocking horse, which was still rocking.

Sherlock searched around and found yet another door, leading back out to the hall. Sherlock threw the door and quickly left the room. Something about those dolls unnerved him. As Sherlock looked down the hall as he walked he realized that both the children's rooms were marked with a doll outside one door and a toy soldier outside the other room. It was odd, why would they need to mark the children's rooms? Were the toys even there before? Why hadn't he noticed them?

The hall felt like it had changed, like there were more pictures on the walls, like there was more vases on the side tables, or more furniture just sitting aimlessly around.

Claustrophobia- Fear of confined spaces.

The information came randomly to Sherlock's mind. He knew that he most certainly wasn't claustrophobic, but the tight feeling in his chest wouldn't leave him.

As Sherlock walked the halls he came across a co-co clock. It was only than that Sherlock realized he had no idea what time it was. The last time he had seen anything that indicated the time was the window in the bathroom from the room he first awoke from. As he looked towards the clock it chimed telling him that it was eleven o'clock at night. As the clock continued to chime two figured came out.

An executioner and a man with a stump next to him.

Sherlock watched as the man bent over and laid his hand on the stomp.

The clock chimed on.

Sherlock watched as the executioner raised his blade above the man's head.

The clock chimed on.

Sherlock watched as the executioner brought the blade down, going straight through the man.

The clock chimed on.

Sherlock watched as the man's head fell off.

The clock stopped.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Sherlock felt an odd chill run down his spine; a tremor ran its course through his body. Wanting to put as much distance between him and this hall filled with horrors, he turned down the corner hoping to find a way out of this house. It occurred to him to simply smash through a window, but something deep inside him refused to do such a careless act.

What if whoever put him here heard him? What if there was whoever had brought him here had let their guard down? This might be his only chance to escape! No, smashing through a window might bring him to his own demise. It was true Sherlock was known for taking dangerous risks others wouldn't dare to, but even he wasn't willing to put his life on the line for a cowards act in fear.

The next hall seem to be dark than the last, although there were light candles going along the walls in the hallway, it seemed like the main light source was coming from outside. The light was something much like a moon beam. It was night, wasn't it? Yes, the clock had told him it was eleven o'clock. Why had he forgotten that?

A shadow suddenly shifted, it was so swift that had Sherlock blinked he might have missed it. A shadow of what looked like a hunched over figured had passed by the window. But...there was no one else in the hall, nor was there anyone hiding along sides of the hall in the shadows. It had come from outside; there was someone outside who clearly didn't want to be seen.

A late reaction went through Sherlock as he felt the adrenaline of shock course through his veins. It came to him as a surprise; that he should be startled by a simply shadow. He shook his head to clear him of such foolishness. He had faced hundreds of criminals before; masterminds to common thieves. It felt humiliating that he should be spooked by a shadow like some child.

He took a moment to recover himself, and in this moment he looked down the hall. Every hall appeared to look the same; covered with paintings of strange people, there might be an odd side table with a couple of chairs set out, or a vase with flowers. But either way, they all appeared to look very similar. He made note in his head to be careful to remember which way he came from, so he wouldn't get lost.

An annoyed groaned sounded through Sherlock's body as he looked ahead and saw that the hall (which for some strange reason didn't lead anywhere else, no doors to anywhere) went straight and made a left turn. It almost seemed like the halls were leading him in a circle around the house. Which was completely ridicules, who builds a hallway that goes around a house? But, than again, who builds a hallway with doors and only leads to a turn?

Marching down the hall with a new confidence, Sherlock continued down the turned and to the next hall until he finally found a door. Ah! More rooms meant more clues as to why he was here and how to get out. He opened the door, stepped through, and shut the door behind him. His shouldered slumped as he took in the scene before him.

It was a room that had been made for tailoring. There were models with only their torsos, a small basket on the floor with yarn and a desk with a sewing machine on it. Other than the pictures on the walls there wasn't much to decorate the door. But something caught his attention on the wall; the wallpaper, it was designed with skulls.

Small anatomy incorrect skulls.

An older woman must have lived here; for the machine was part of the desk, and it was then that Sherlock noticed the pedal on the floor, yes, and a very odd edition of the sewing machine. According to Lestrade, the only people that lived here was Viola and her parents. This had been proven wrong when Sherlock discovered the little boys' room. Was there an elderly woman living here as well? It was very possible that Viola's mother was simply old fashion, but the fact that they concealed a boy had it a higher possibility that there was also an older woman here as well.

If that were so, where were they? The only person they had so far scene of the residents who lived here was Viola. So, where were her parents? Where was the little boy? Where/is there an elderly woman? The more Sherlock discovered the more questions he had than answers.

Sherlock searched around the room to find that there was something significant about the room. Nothing hidden in the drawers, nothing behind the wallpaper, or behind the pictures. It was as boring as it looked a whole room just for sewing and fixing clothes.

Dull.

Sherlock exited the room preparing himself to for another long walk down to another hall. It infuriated him, these halls. All they led to were more halls! What were they purposes? Who on earth would make halls that simply lead to more halls?!

Sherlock blink when he realized he had run into something. Looking to see if he had hit a side table or something, he looked towards either side of him to see that whatever he had hit was right in front of him. As he looked up a relief yet puzzling buzz went through him as he realized he had reached the end of the hall. But, there was nothing there. Ah, Sherlock looked around to see he had passed a door to his left when he was deep in through.

The door at the end of the hallway.

Never had a single sentence sent such a chill through him. A million questions went through his head. As he reached out for the door handle, it almost felt unreal as he heard the door click open. A sense of fulfillment coursed through him. Like this had been what he was searching for, this was the whole purpose of him being here. For whatever reason the mystery person wanted him here, this was what it was for.

At least, he hoped it was. Because otherwise, he would be back to searching done endless halls. Just the thought made him so mad he practically threw the door open and flung himself in the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Sherlock came into a small foyer with only two other doors leading out. Taking in the room he noticed that much of the house looked the same. The same wallpaper, or at least very similar ones, was in nearly of room of the house. Each of the rooms was also decorated much in the same way. Vases, some empty, others with flowers, sat on side tables with framed obscure painting hung on each wall. There were no carpeted floors in the house, only wood floors with rugs lying in the middle of a room of hall.

With the light coming from the sun earlier that day, it was easy to miss that there was no electricity in the house. Only oil lamps were used to light the house.

Deciding to simple keep moving forwards, Sherlock choose to go through the door across from the he entered in.

He came into what appeared to be a small office area. Much like the room with the sewing machine, the walls were decorated with wallpaper with a skull design on them. Other than that it looked much like the rest of the house, with strange paintings and oil lamps.

But what caught Sherlock's attention was a candle on a candle holding sitting on the desk. This puzzled Sherlock, for the room was already light by the oil lamps on the walls.

Remembering the darkened staircase which leads to the cellar, Sherlock took the candle with him to use later. As he left the office and returned the foyer, he decided to look into the other room (or perhaps hallway if he was so unlucky) before going back to look for the cellar.

Holding the candle in front of him, Sherlock entered the room and found himself enveloped into total darkness.

As he made his way into the room he shuffled across the floor to be sure not to bump into anything. As he slip his feet across the floor his right foot hit something soft, yet firm. Bringing the candle down Sherlock realized that there was a body on the lying on the floor. Hoping to get a better look, he brought the candle closer the dead man's face and screamed as he took a hastened step back.

The body on the floor was him, Sherlock.

And above the dead version of him, written red (_Most likely blood_) were the words:

**_WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?_**

* * *

After shaking off the shock, Sherlock looked around and found that he was in a small library. There were only a few book selves, tall reaching from the floor to the ceiling, but with all their books thrown onto the floor. The books were scattered all across the floor, not as if someone had thrown them there, but as if something or someone had hit the book shelves and caused them to fall off.

Readying himself, he took another look at his dead self. He was wearing the same clothes as he was now and lying in a position that looked as if he had stumbled after walking from somewhere. There was a single blood stain that had formed on his shirt, most likely a single stab wound (_Just like Viola)_.

_A scene played in his mind, him, his future self, grabbing at his stomach which had just been stabbed not but moments ago. The pain was still fresh, blood flowing freely from the opening. Beginning to feel the effects of the blood loss he stumbled across the room, grabbing onto anything that could support him._

_He shuffled across the floor, leaning against the shelving, accidentally knocking the books of their shelves. Sherlock could feel his future self sense death coming closer as every second passed. Anger surged through him, perhaps his future self had found someone, perhaps his future self had met someone in this puzzle of a house and had some sort of an adventure with them._

_But whoever they were, they were gone._

_They had left him, left him to die! Perhaps they were the one to stab him. Or had they fled as soon as they spotted danger? Whichever, they forsaken him. Whoever they were, she or he had some sort of meaning to him. They had given him kind of hope. Why else would he take the time to leave them an angry message written in his own blood?_

Sherlock shook the image anyway. He needed to leave; he needed to get far and away from this maddening house. For how could there be two of him? It was impossible! Someone was messing with his head. This wasn't real, it couldn't be! There can't be two of him! This was ridiculous! Whoever this other man was had either been set up to scare Sherlock or simple looked somewhat like him.

After all, the room was dark, Sherlock was sure that, in the light, he would be able to see multiple differences between him and this dead man. Sherlock was sure of it!

So with his confidence renewed, Sherlock turned to leave the room in search of answers. But as he stepped back into the foyer, he felt his head grow heavy. Dizziness came upon him and caused him to stagger. Feeling weakened and unable to keep himself up, he sat down on the floor, trying to collect himself.

But as time went on, his head began to feel lighter and lighter, and soon he felt as if the room were spinning. As his vision began to leave him he thought he heard a voice calling his name. With his eyes now widen and head whipping around looking for the owner of the voice, he felt someone grab his shoulder and begin shaking him.

As the shaking continued the house around him started to fade into darkness.

* * *

_**A/N: If you've watched or played Never Ending Nightmare, you know that the words above the dead body of 'you' really says 'My God, Why Have You Forsaken me?'**_

_**From what we've seen on Sherlock, we can safely assume Sherlock doesn't believe in God, so this would make no sense. Now maybe this would make sense in the finished version of the game, but here with Sherlock it won't.**_

_** Now I'm not gonna give away any spoilers, but if you've watched Markiplier's Let's Play... of Neverending Nightmares, you know I'm going very closely with how he played the game. Well that's about to change.**_

_**Because the game is incomplete (last I checked) and the part that is out is mostly just exploring the first level and has very little going on, I'm going to have to add in my own plot. **_

_**So if years in the future, and some random person whose played the full version decides to read this. Sorry to disappoint, but this only going on bits of the demo.  
**_

_**~Lacie River**_


End file.
